About New York; At 89, Craftsman Tunes Watches Of a Certain Age

By DOUGLAS MARTIN

Published: June 21, 1989

In its glossy official biography, Cartier says that its customers have long ''had one thing in common - unlimited wealth.''

Ralph Destino, chairman of the American portion of the empire, delights in telling stories underlining this point. He relishes the one about how the jewelry house - it is not, he admonishes, ''a jewelry department store'' like Tiffany (meow) - came to be at Fifth Avenue and 52d Street.

It seems Morton F. Plant, a turn-of-the-century tycoon, fell for Maisey, a bubbly 19-year-old whirlwind. Their marriage rested on the premise that what Maisey wanted, Maisey got.

Mr. Plant built her a Fifth Avenue mansion across from that of Grace Vanderbilt, her idol. Then, as Mr. Destino tells it, a glorious Cartier pearl necklace came to town on a world tour. In the days before cultured pearls, even one jumbo-sized perfect pearl was dear. And this was a double strand. $1.2 million worth!

As it happened, Cartier - already flourishing in this citadel of conspicous consumption -was prowling for larger digs. A straight-up trade ensued.

Not to worry, Mrs. Plant was not forced into homelessness. Her husband provided his darling a new mansion at 84th Street and Fifth, a short block from Mrs. Vanderbilt's new address. After his death, she would marry two or three more times - Mr. Destino wasn't sure which.

The Cartier executive went on to discuss his company's style (''timeless, simple and French''), its in-store promotions (Egyptian pyramids are now rising; panthers have roamed) and those luscious prices (a pin sold for $11,000 in 1948 recently fetched $1.3 million). Then he got down to the subject at hand. Walter Kroehnert, Cartier's master watchmaker.

Mr. Kroehnert has been making and repairing watches and clocks at Cartier since 1936 and that, mind you, was not the beginning of his career. In 1913, when he was 14 years old, he began an apprenticeship in a small town in East Prussia. The work required sitting beside a master for 12 hours a day, six days a week, for four years. And he was required to go to watchmaking school for two more hours a day.

That is how one learned a fine craft. Mr. Kroehnert considered it a fair enough deal: The young man wanted to see the world, and -after serving as a pilot in the German air force in World War I - watchmaking took him to Berlin and Switzerland before coming here.

A decade or so ago, Mr. Destino testified against mandatory retirement before a Congressional panel. His most persuasive comment turned out to be passing around a watch made by Mr. Kroehnert.

''Only a great veteran reaches those plateaus of perfection,'' he said.

The master watchmaker, whose twinkling eyes and shock of white hair inspire thoughts of a beardless summertime Santa, still comes to work four days a week, often continuing at his workbench at home. He will be 90 years old on Oct. 12.

Cartier has other watchmakers, but none like this. Mr. Kroehnert specializes in repairing vintage watches, for which parts are not available.

So he makes his own, a skill he says is virtually extinct. No wonder: As a young apprentice, he recalls sweating for hours over a mosquito-sized part. Then the master would destroy it so he could make another.

Cartier in 1977 advertised that Mr. Kroehnert would make seven pocket watches, one a month, at $10,000 each. All went the next day. Barbra Striesand has had a messenger personally carry a broken clock to Mr. Kroehnert from California.

At a recent Sotheby's auction, a Cartier ''mystery clock'' - one that creates an illusion of hands floating through space - was offered, Mr. Destino said. Estimates were that it might command $150,000 to 200,000. It fetched $600,000, but only on the condition that repairs be performed by you know who.

His hands retain the controlled, almost rubbery dexterity of a surgeon's. He does not wear glasses. He plays golf, walks 20 blocks to work and is looking forward to a vacation with his son, who is retired. But retirement isn't in the cards for the small man who has outlived two wives and now has a fourth great-grandson to supply with a fine watch. ''I couldn't just sit there,'' he said.

There is no watch that Mr. Kroehnert cannot fix, though quartz models are far, far beneath him. He won't be rushed. A job can take more than a year. ''When you need it by bears no relationship to when you get it,'' Mr. Destino said. ''We're not talking about a car's transmission.''